What the Healer Ordered
by mailroomy
Summary: comment-fic sized. warnings: harry, draco, a quarrel, a bed, and a roomful of cliches. H/D and therefore slash.


_started life as a commentfic re: tresa_cho's prompt._

* * *

Draco's apprenticeship at St. Jude Thaddeus actually started as probationary community service in lieu of actually rotting in Azkaban. At first, it was such hardship, and he had always looked forward to the end of the workday. But, after what seemed an Age of service, he had (even to his surpise) managed to find certain enjoyment in his work.

So now, he mostly looked forward to the start of a work day, not that he'd readily admit to it. He had a dilettante image to uphold. His parents too, had been quite surprised, and more than a little cross, to hear that he's considering work as Apprentice Healer. "Not exactly something you see a Malfoy do, is it?" His father asked, already picturing his one and only son slogging in the strenuousness that was the Emergency Ward.

Now, Malfoy senior was right about amount of work an Apprentice Healer needed to put in. And for only a handful of times in Harry Potter's life he grudgingly agreed to that assessment.

"I hardly see you anymore!" Harry protested, quite scaring himself by whining quite so pathetically. They were back in their house, a modest two-up-two-down they paid for themselves. Narcissa had vehemently offered to pay for it, to purchase a bigger house for them, and even tried to get them to stay at the manor.

("Draco," Narcissa had said, "this is hardly a place becoming of a Malfoy." She took one look at Harry and added, "Neither is it a place for the Great Hero of the Wizarding World." She had exhaled artfully, the way only a high society wife could, and swooned onto the daybed. "This... this... this is entirely too pedestrian." she waved her delicate hands around. "People move _up_ the society, not voluntarily degrade from it." But of course all of Narcissa's laments went unheard).

"You're welcome to come visit me anytime at the hospital," Draco answered, hanging his healer robes carefully inside the airing cupboard. "I don't recall you ever visiting me."

"Well! You could've visited me at the Auror Academy, too!"

"Oh? Have you ever thought of how hard it is to gain access into the Academy? I swear to Merlin! No wonder you lot become pathetic bureaucrats!" Draco disappeared into the bathroom. "And you were almost never there, too!" he shouted from within. And before Harry could provide a word of retort... "I've checked!"

And Harry closed his mouth.

"You're the Celebrity Auror," Draco said, when he returned to the bedroom. "Do you know how hard it is to get an appointment to see you? And no, 'Hello, I'm Draco Malfoy, Shagger of Harry Potter Seven Ways to Sunday' didn't quite work as I hoped it would. I can't think of any other proper identification with proper level of access than that!"

"You _what_?" All colour disappeared from Harry's face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know our relationship was all hush-hush like," Draco sneered. "_Honestly_."

And Harry couldn't exactly point out the exact time upon which their banter turned into an outright duel. It seemed that bitterness still existed in their relationship.

And Harry wasn't sure who won their duel, at least until he opened his eyes and looked straight at white sterile ceilings mostly encountered in healing establishments.

"Ah, he's awake, he is," a face came into view. A friendly matronly face appeared in his line of vision and Harry tried to smile. "I'll fetch Apprentice Malfoy for you," she said, rearranging the sheets around him and patting his head in a very grandmotherly way.

Staring at the ceiling, the events of the night before came back to him, and when Draco appeared next to him, he'd remembered everything.

"Constipatio? Morbilli?" Harry asked, incredulous. "Adstricto? Clavus?" he didn't care that his voice was rising up to the point where they could be heard outside the room.

"I still can't bring myself to perform the usual hex and jinxes," he smiled, rather sadly too, Harry supposed. Bad memories still. It seemed that even the least harmless of all hexes had ties with certain memories Draco did not care to remember.

Thus Draco had, in the past year, learnt how to create hexes and jinxes out of medical conditions, rather successful at it, too. At least these ones he could treat, proficiently too, he must say.

"_Epitaxis_?!" Harry exclaimed. "Oh _Draco_!"

Draco offered him a tremulous smile. "At least I get to keep you here for three days. Healer Cocos agrees with my assessment. As do the nurses in this ward."

"Imagine that," Draco said, sitting on the bed, placing the back of his palm on Harry's forehead in a parody of taking his temperature. "Three whole days. You. All to myself."

Harry Potter wasn't one to laze about all day, and being bedridden for three days should really bother him something fierce. But, he thought as he pulled Draco down for a kiss, sometimes Healers really did know best.


End file.
